Make a Little Room in Your Heart For Me
by lolcat202
Summary: Sharon and Andy have disclosed their relationship to the LAPD, and she's ready to take the next step in their relationship. Set after Hostage of Fortune. (Apologies for the formatting errors - they've been fixed.)
1. Chapter 1

The problem with working Major Crimes was that even the days that looked like they were going to end on a high note could suddenly, unexpectedly and heartbreakingly wind up making her wish she'd never agreed to the transfer. Instead of leaving at 5pm after she'd wrapped the case, embarrassed the FBI, and horrified her immediate supervisor with the news that she was in a relationship with Andy Flynn, Sharon was stuck telling a young man that the sister he expected to be reunited with at the PAB was instead wrapped in plastic in the county morgue.

Sharon ushered Gus Wallace out of her office and patted his shoulder, a small, awkward measure of comfort for the boy who had just been given the news that he'd never see his sister again. She promised to meet him at the morgue in the morning for the identification, then gave him a sympathetic smile as he made his way out of the murder room.

She'd thought that finally knowing Alice's identity would give some sense of closure to the case, but having to tell Gus that his sister was dead – it just opened barely scabbed wounds and left her bleeding all over again at the pain written on his face.

God willing, he'd only have to hear news like this once in his lifetime. Her job was not nearly so kind.

"You ok?" Before she could even draw a breath and collect herself, Andy was beside her. Andy, who always seemed to know when she needed his support, even if she still hadn't quite figured out how to ask for it. He rested a hand on the base of her spine, his thumb rubbing against the ridges of her vertebrae. She was still unsure about the pace of their relationship and the lines between personal and professional he was allowed to cross, and ordinarily he'd never do something so blatant in the murder room, but she was grateful for his touch. Just this once, she'd accept the comfort he so freely gave and damn the consequences.

"Am I ok? No," she admitted. She pushed their professional boundaries even further aside to settle into him, letting her shoulder rest on his warm, broad chest. Sharon wasn't about to start engaging in PDA in her murder room, but a little bit of body contact after the day she had wasn't outside the bounds of professional conduct. She should know - she wrote the section on interpersonal relationships in the LAPD ranks herself.

"Hell of a day," he said, and she hummed in response. "You still want to get some dinner, or do you want to go home and unwind?"

"Yes," she said.

Andy's brow furrowed. "To which?"

Sharon let her hand drift along his tie, tugging at the end of the satin fabric, just enough to bring his head down close enough to hear her whispered answer. "Both."

Andy kept shooting worried glances at her as he drove up the 110. After the third sigh, her patience finally reached its end. "What?" she snapped.

"Nothing."

Great. What was supposed to be a romantic night had already been derailed by Alice's brother appearing in her murder room, and now she was spoiling for their first fight. Of all the milestones she'd hoped their relationship would check off this weekend, that was certainly not on the list.

"It's obviously something," she said, taking care to soften her voice. "You might as well let it out."

Andy's fingers drummed on the steering wheel. For a man who'd spent the bulk of his career shooting off his mouth and winding up in her office as a result, she was endlessly surprised by his ability to choose his words carefully with her. Surprised, and a little frustrated. She'd spent the last few years of her marriage censoring every word she said - the last thing she wanted was to make Andy feel he had to do the same, especially when they'd only been dating - officially, anyway - for a few weeks.

"Andy." She reached over and laid her fingers on his with just enough pressure to stop his irritating tap-tap-tapping on the wheel. "Please, just talk to me. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear, or hold it in because you think it'll upset me. Just - talk to me."

His silence was deafening, and she was about to throw up her hands and tell him to just drop her off at home and leave her to sulk. His resolve not to upset her disappeared when she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't like it. The kid, showing up with Alice's brother and leaving you to do the dirty work of telling him that she's dead. Not even giving you a heads-up. It's just kind of a dick move."

There it was, the bluntness she'd come to know and expect, if not appreciate, over the years. She fought down her irritation at his unkind, but definitely honest, appraisal of her son's motives. Truth be told, she was none too pleased with Rusty at the moment either, so she could hardly be angry with Andy for summing up her own frustrations with her well-meaning but utterly myopic son. "Heads-up or no, it was the right thing for Rusty to do, bringing him to the station. It's our job to give notifications, not his."

"I still don't like it." His fingers resumed tapping on the wheel. "Jackass," he muttered under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What?" Andy caught the flush rising on her cheeks and immedately started to backpedal. "No, no, not the kid! That guy!" He pointed to a luxury car that was cruising on the shoulder, looking for an opportunity to cut into traffic. "Although, I gotta say, if the shoe fits…"

After 20 years of learning how to navigate around Andy Flynn's temper, she should have been better at talking him down. 20 years of knowing Andy, though, had never prepared her for the full force of Andy's ire being focused on protecting her. Andy was about six seconds away from pulling some entitled executive who was most definitely not using his blinker to merge into their lane out of his car and beating the shit out of them on the shoulder of the 110, just so that he could punch somebody, and the commanding officer in Sharon Raydor should have been furious with him.

That Sharon Raydor had been left behind at the PAB for the weekend. This Sharon was touched that he'd be so angry on her behalf, even if it wasn't needed or especially welcome. Andy Flynn, her personal knight in shining armor, ready to slay dragons just to keep her day running smoothly. "It's a lousy situation for all of us. Even Rusty. You don't have to like it, you know, but you do have to respect how I choose to handle it."

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll respect it. But I still don't like it."

"Honey, you don't like anything."

She'd never called him honey before, and the term of endearment melted the glare on his face into something softer, warmer. "I like you."

"Just me?" she asked, unable to hide her own silly grin at his surprisingly tender words.

Andy gestured at the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 110. "At the moment, just you."

Before he could resume drumming on the steering wheel, she pulled his hand into her lap and laced her fingers through his. "I like you too," she said, punctuating her soft admission with a squeeze.

"Just me?"

"Well, not just you."

He grunted in reply, so she softened her response. "Not just you, but at the moment...you're definitely at the top of the list."

Traffic opened up enough for Andy to ease into the exit lane for the 5, and he relaxed as he merged into the flow of cars going something that approached the speed limit. "Well," he said, his smug grin back in place, "just as long as I get to be on top. Of the list, I mean."

"We'll discuss that later," she shot back. Andy's eyebrows shot up at her reply. Whatever he was hoping the evening would entail, she doubted he was expecting that. But they had the whole weekend off, they were officially dating as far as the LAPD was concerned, Rusty had shot her a text that he'd be out for the night working on his story with Buzz, and...since it didn't look like they'd be having their first fight, she was only too happy to have a different first with her handsome lieutenant instead.

Having Andy in her condo was hardly unusual. He'd been here to pick her up, to watch baseball and football, and to help her pick through minute details of cases that were driving her crazy late into the night. When he came in, he always toed off his shoes and placed his badge and holster on the table by the door. If Rusty was home, he laid his suit jacket on her desk and settled in the orange chair; if her son was out, he preferred to sit next to her on the couch. At first, they sat at opposite ends, but as months went by and they got more comfortable in each other's company, he'd plop down right in the middle, forcing her to settle close enough to him to feel the heat from his skin and catch the last lingering scent of aftershave as he gestured at the tv.

Tonight, when she knew that he'd be seeing more than her kitchen and living room, she was hyper-aware of every movement. She should be kicking off her own shoes and curling up next to him as they argued about ordering Mediterranean over sushi, but instead she paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again, collecting menus, pouring glasses of water, and generally making a nervous wreck of herself.

"Whatever you want is fine with me," he said, after she finally stopped her five-minute monologue on the virtues of edamame vs. hummus long enough to take a breath. "Just pick one, and for the love of God, sit down. You're making me tired just watching you."

She sat down long enough to turn on the TV and change the channel to ESPN, then was up and once again wearing out a stretch of hallway from her bedroom back to the living room as she ordered dinner.

She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. She was also, she feared, being obvious. If she didn't get a grip, and soon, Andy was going to figure out that she invited him over for more than just dinner. If he did, she'd totally lose her nerve. And send him home without ever getting to the point of inviting him over in the first place.

Sex. That was the point. It seemed like a good idea yesterday when she'd woken up from a dream about him, drenched in sweat and desperately needing a few minutes to calm down before she made her way into the kitchen to make coffee. It seemed like an even better idea when she'd asked him this morning to come over after work, but now that he was here, and they were one meal away - one very light meal away; it wouldn't do for them to pass out from a carb-and-cheese coma - from winding up naked in her bedroom, she was legitimately starting to panic.

She wasn't afraid of sex - neither in theory nor in practice. Contrary to popular beliefs held by the ranks of the LAPD and her children, Sharon was not some pristine, lonely-hearted madonna who abstained from the sins of the flesh after her husband up and left her. She didn't lie - much - didn't take the Lord's name in vain, and didn't covet, so she figured that if she committed some purely recreational sins and confessed afterward, God would forgive her for wanting to feel the warmth of another body against hers. So far, it seemed, God had turned a blind eye to the discreet dalliances she'd indulged in over the years, but Andy Flynn in her condo, watching her tv, and yelling at her about missing the bottom of the 6th inning was legitimately about to send her into a series of Hail Marys and Our Fathers. It seemed that God was finally starting to pay attention to what Sharon Raydor did when the lights were out. Whether or not He was displeased, she couldn't tell, but He was definitely sending her strong signals that He was aware.

She sure as hell didn't need that level of pressure, not now that she'd decided that it was finally time to cross that proverbial bridge. It wasn't sex in and of itself that was making her palms sweat - it was sex with Andy. It was sex with a man whose last partner she was reasonably sure had been at least 20 years younger than she. It was sex with a man who turned a kiss goodnight into a goddamn Hollywood movie. It was sex with a man who made her use the Lord's name in vain while thinking about kissing him, and it was sex with a man whom she knew, absolutely knew, wouldn't think of it as sex at all.

No, with Andy, it wouldn't be a recreational sin. It would absolutely be a violation of her marriage vows. They knew each other too well and cared about each other too much for it to be just sex. If she let him into her room, let him into her body, he wouldn't just roll off of her and throw on his clothes, he wouldn't be content to throw his clothes back on and let her push him out the door when they were done. He'd carve out a little corner for himself in her life, her home and her heart, no matter how small and cramped the space may be, and set up permanent residence.

Get a grip, Sharon. Even if he left tonight with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a promise to talk the next morning, a part of him would still stay with her, digging into her heart when she turned out the light. If she was going to be stuck with a part of him regardless, she might as well have all of him.

"Dinner will be here in 30," she said, settling onto the couch next to him. He grunted in reply and didn't take his eyes off the game, but wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close enough that he could rest his chin on the crown of her head.

"Dodgers are creaming the Mets," he said. "This is gonna be their year."

"Didn't you say that last year?"

Andy shrugged. "What can I say? I'm an optimist."

"At least about baseball," she said, poking his side. With his free hand, he caught her index finger, then slid his own fingers down to her wrist, settling their joined hands on his stomach. He idly stroked his thumb over her pulse point. If he were paying more attention to her and less to the postgame wrap-up, he'd notice that her heart was pounding.

He looked at her, really looked at her, and his thumb stilled on her wrist. "I'm an optimist about a lot of things lately."

Maybe he was paying attention.

"If the Dodgers actually pull out a win, maybe I'll think your optimism is founded?"

"And if they don't?" he asked with a grin, playing along with her teasing.

"If they don't….maybe I'll have to find another way to make you optimistic."

Andy's hand stilled on her wrist. "Care to elaborate?"

She leaned in and kissed him, a light kiss meant to tease and promise. Just enough to get his attention. "After we eat."

Andy always ate faster than she did, but she was barely halfway through her caterpillar roll before he tossed his napkin on the table and grinned at her. "Can I clear some of this away?"

She paused, a roll suspended halfway to her mouth, and fought back a grin at her obviously eager lieutenant. "Can you wait until I'm done eating?"

"Oh, uh...sure." He took his plate to the kitchen and rinsed it, stacking it neatly in the dishwasher before coming back to clear empty sushi containers and wrappers. "Just, you know, take your time."

She wasn't the type to tease, but it had been so long since she'd been a position to have a man eager to get her clothes off that she wasn't above making the most of it. "Sit down, Andy. I have every intention of enjoying my dinner." She popped the roll in her mouth and chewed slowly, enjoying the way Andy's eyes never moved from the rise and fall of her jaw. Her tongue peeked out to lick the last remnants of eel sauce from the corner of her mouth, and he groaned just loud enough for her to hear.

"Anything worth having is worth enjoying, isn't it?"

"God, I hope so," he muttered.

"Hmmm?"

"Nothing. You just...uh...enjoy your dinner, babe. I'll be right here when you're done."

Of that, she had no doubt.

Once the table was cleared and the dishwasher was humming away, Sharon tossed her cloth into the sink to be dealt with later and snapped off the kitchen light. Andy, too tense to watch her wipe down countertops, had decamped for the couch and switched the tv back on, this time to an old Western she knew he'd seen at least fifty times. She sat on the edge of the couch, just close enough to brush his knees with hers. "Aren't you sick of this movie yet?"

Once again, he wrapped his arms around her and and pulled her close. "I hope you know by now, when I love something, I never get sick of it."

Oh. Oh. Andy pacing in her kitchen, staring at her ass while she bent over to load the dishwasher was unsettling, but not unwelcome. Andy, sitting on her couch and idly throwing out words like love...that Andy was terrifying.

Andy, sitting on her couch and holding her close, but not daring to look at her for fear that hed spooked her enough to send her running - perhaps she wasn't the only one who was nervous.

She'd faced down worse in her life than a man who was clearly head over heels for her. She ran down eight flights of stairs barefoot to have a shoot-out with a man who was threatening her son, for crying out loud; surely the thought of getting undressed in front of the man who had held her afterward and let her cry on his chest until they fell asleep on her couch shouldn't be nearly as frightening.

"Hey," she said, and he hmmmed in response, his lips teasing her hairline. "Turn off the movie."

He pulled away just far enough to hit the button on the remote, but didn't settle down against her on the couch. "Are you tired?"

"No," she said. "But I want to go to bed." She pushed herself off the couch and tugged at the hand that was still entwined with hers. "Come to bed, Andy."

She fantasized about the two of them tripping over their clothes and their feet to get to her bedroom, the first time they had sex. She imagined it being sweaty and fast and a little desperate. She didn't imagine leading him back to her room, the two of them barely looking at each other as she snapped off lights and locked the front door. She didn't imagine Andy stopping at the bathroom door and asking her if she'd like a few minutes to get ready for bed. She'd been ready for bed with this man for what felt like years, and he was worried that she hadn't washed her face?

So much for his ladies' man reputation.

She'd fantasized about surprising him with fancy lingerie, but when she finally emerged from the bathroom - because damn him, she didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning with yesterday's makeup smeared all over her pillow and all over her face - she was still in her work clothes, because all her fancy lingerie was in the dresser he was leaning against.

She jerked her chin at the bathroom behind her, the overhead light casting just enough of a glow in her bedroom to see that he was still fully dressed. "Do you-"

He closed the distance between the two of them with just a few hurried steps. "Later," he murmured before he pressed his lips to hers. Heady, the feel of him against her and the gentle tease of his lips brushing against hers. Dangerous, she amended, when his tongue darted out to trace her lips. She opened her mouth - to sigh, to protest, to beg for more, she wasn't sure which - and he took advantage of her momentary lapse of composure, his tongue tracing her teeth, then teasing her own. Any illusions she had that she was in the driver's seat for the night, she let go willingly as she surrendered to his kiss.

His kiss, like everything about him, was intense, impatient. He nibbled at her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, teasing the sensitive skin with his tongue. When she tried to reciprocate, he pulled away just a bit, then swooped in again to take control. His hands swept up her sides and along her back, then his fingers dug into her hair, holding her steady against the onslaught. God, she could kiss him all night. She was tempted to do just that, but when he stopped to take a breath, she remembered...kissing wasn't the point here.

"You're incredible," he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers.

"You're not supposed to say that yet." She released the death grip she had on his jacket and let her hands snake up his chest to start tugging at his tie.

"Sharon," he said, his own hands covering hers, stopping her from working the knot of his tie free. "You wanted to go slow. And you know, it's your pace."

She tilted her chin just up enough to plant a line of kisses along his jaw, taking a second to breathe him in. "I wanted to go slow so that we could get this right. This feels right."

"God, you have no idea how right this feels," he groaned.

"So, can I-" she tugged against the fingers that were still holding hers immoble.

He let her go, only to rest his hands on her hips and pull her even closer. "By all means. Like I said, it's your pace."

"We can still go slow," she whispered.

"You keep touching me," he teased, "and I can't promise that slow is gonna be an option."

His smile fell away when she tensed in his arms. "What?"

She'd been so used to having Andy all to herself for so long that it was easy to forget that before her, his conquests had definitely been younger. Probably none of them even knew how to spell menopause. Or for that matter, lubricant. The sad truth was that no matter how much she wanted this or wanted him, there was no guarantee that her body would comply.

"Sharon? Are you having second thoughts?"

"No, it's not that. Honey, not at all. It's just that…" She'd asked him to be honest earlier; it was only fair to be honest with him, no matter how embarrassing. "I'm not 25 anymore. Going slow...it isn't exacly an option so much as a requirement." She stared intently at the knot in his tie. "I just don't want you to be disappointed if things don't happen the way you're used to."

"I don't want what I'm used to. I want what I have, right here and right now. I want to touch every little bit of you, and if it takes all night, well, I've got nowhere else I want to be."

A little giggle escaped her throat before she could stop herself. Oh, God, that was the last thing she needed, to get the church giggles in the middle of seducing Andy Flynn. "You really are smooth, you know that?"

Andy looped his fingers through hers and brought them up to his neck, pressing them into where his pulse was thudding a fast staccato. "Babe, I'm nervous as hell right now. You scare the shit out of me."

The thought of her handsome, brash lieutenant being afraid of her was enough to melt the last of her reserves. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

"Don't hold back on my account," he growled, then he was kissing her again, harder and deeper this time, driving all insecurities out of her mind to make room for the taste and feel of him.

They'd wasted far too long holding back. Tonight, everything else be damned, she was moving forward.


	2. Chapter 2

She'd had enough first times to know that things never went quite smoothly. There were always some misfires - limbs getting stuck in clothing, condom wrappers not cooperating, and positions that just didn't seem to work. Sharon expected some of that with Andy. In his haste to get her out of her jacket, he tugged a little too hard, popping off one of the buttons that had been loose and sending it sailing across her bedroom. Then, when she finally got back to getting rid of his tie, her hands were trembling enough that she inadvertently pulled it tighter, leaving him choking for air. He pulled her hands away and undid the knot himself. "Damn, woman, you are trying to kill me."

She expected these little missteps - what she didn't expect was that instead of trying to push them aside to get back to getting her naked and flat on her back, Andy would stop and laugh, and tease her when she got frustrated.

"Sharon," he said, tossing his tie on the loveseat at the end of her bed, "Babe, you've gotta relax."

"I am relaxed!"

He raised his eyebrow, taking a moment to stare at her clenched fists. "If this is how you are when you're relaxed, I'm not sure I want those hands anywhere near my dick."

Sharon's eyes widened as his words registered. That was where this was going, her hands on his dick, but even Jack had never said something like that to her. Completely flustered, she didn't know whether to laugh or to smack him.

"Here," he said, prying her fists open and resting her palms flat on his chest. "You just stay like this. Keep your hands where I can see them."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm dead serious."

Logistically, Sharon saw a few flaws in his plan. Namely, how the hell was she supposed to get her shirt off, if she couldn't take her hands off his chest?

Realistically, she parsed his command to see how it could work to her advantage. She could keep her hands where he could see them and still explore the planes of his chest. Sharon spread her hands along his muscles, feeling the hard pebbles of his nipples under the pads of her index fingers. She pressed down, then swirled her fingers around them, reveling in the rise and fall of chest as he

took in a sharp breath.

"I said don't move," he hissed.

"You most certainly did not." Her fingers drifted to stroke along the buttons of his shirt. "You said hands where you can see them. If you're going to give an order, Andy, you need to be clear."

"So that's where I've been going wrong all these years," he laughed.

"Do you really want a performance evaluation now?" she asked as she started working his buttons free.

"No." He captured her lips in another kiss, hard enough to make her hiss when he nipped at her tongue, "I'll save that for after."

She managed to get his shirt unbuttoned, working underneath it to slide it off his shoulders. When she pulled away to tug at the sleeves, he grabbed her wrists and pressed her palms back to his chest.

"I'm giving you a direct order, Sharon. Don't move these hands until I tell you to."

She pressed up on her toes, nuzzling into the side of his neck as she traced his earlobe with her tongue. "I thought I was the boss?"

"Only at work. The rest...let's just say it's up for discussion."

"And you want to discuss this now?"

"No," he said. "I want you to stand still so that I can take off your pants and finally get to see those legs of yours."

True to his words, Andy immediately busied himself with unbuttoning her pants and sliding them down her legs, letting his fingernails dig into her skin as he traced the reverse path. "God, your legs," he groaned. "You have no idea how long I've wanted them wrapped around me." He teased at the hem of her panties before grabbing her ass and pulling her against his erection. "You have no idea."

The weight of him pressing against her, the wool of his slacks tickling her bare skin, was driving her to distraction. "Andy," she said, her voice shaking with need, "please."

"Please what?" he teased as he slipped underneath her panties, his fingers splaying against the bare skin of her ass.

"Please, I need to touch you." She needed to touch him. Her hands had, once again, involuntary fisted into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "Please."

"If you let go, and promise to relax."

"I promise," she sighed. "Oh God, I promise, just please."

Once again, he unballed her fists. "See? Like I said, I'm open to discussion." Andy kissed one hand, then the other before releasing his hold on her.

Finally. She yanked his t-shirt up and over his head, ignoring his laugh when the fabric caught on his chin and tossing it over her shoulder. Finally. His skin was there, warm and soft and silky, ready for her to explore. She teased along the planes of his muscles, stopping to trace the scar left by Rick Zuman's hired killer all those years ago. She dragged her fingernails through the fine mat of hair on his chest, taking note of the slight hiss as she left faint marks in her wake, and the whispered "Jesus," as she soothed the marks with her tongue. Sharon let her hands stroke the slight rounding of his belly, choking back her own laugh as he tried to suck it in. Finally, she let her fingers slide over his belt, tracing a path down, down, down until she could feel the weight of his erection pressing into her palm.

"I've thought about this too," she admitted shyly.

"Yeah?"

"For longer than you can imagine." With that, she directed all of her energy to getting him unbuckled, unzipped, and out of his clothing.

It wasn't without more misfires - he was so intent on helping her get him out of his pants that he almost tripped over the length of fabric and managed to whack her in the temple with his elbow as he reached out to steady himself. Then, when he finally got free of his pants, he realized that he was still wearing his socks, and the look on his face when he realized that he was completely naked save for his black socks was almost enough to send her into another outburst of laughter.

As he was busy toeing off his socks, he looked up to catch her biting her lip to keep from giggling at him. "Do you mind? I'm trying to be suave here."

He wasn't suave in the least, but he was adorable, shaking his head as she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to hold in her laughter. Completely naked, and more than a little irritated that she was so amused by the situation, this Andy Flynn was no doubt the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life.

And that was before she let her eyes drift down. Oh. Oh. Her giggles evaporated in the face of his obvious desire for her. Andy, thick and hard, wanted her. Wanted her.

Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore.

Perceptive to her mood swings as always, Andy pulled her close again, kissing her thoroughly until she was too breathless to protest him guiding her shirt up and off, then burrowing into the space between her breasts to kiss along her sternum. She was half tempted to tell him to turn off the bedside lamp, but before she could get the words out, he was pulling down the straps of her bra, his mouth waiting to capture the soft flesh he exposed. His tongue tracing along the edges of her areola made her cry out, and when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, her knees gave out and sent her sprawling onto the bed behind her.

"Finally," he sighed, collapsing next to her. "I'm in bed with Sharon Raydor."

Finally. She still had on her underwear, her bra hovering somewhere around her waist and her panties wedged in uncomfortable crevices, but finally. This was happening. Sharon reached one hand to her back and unclasped her bra. "Andy, I swear, if you make one more smart remark, I'm sending you home."

He pulled at the lace and satin, helping her tug it off and toss it aside. "Sharon, I swear, if you send me home, I'm taking you with me."

His mouth was on her again, tasting every new inch of exposed skin. Released from the confines of her bra, her breasts were ripe for his exploration, tracing along the gentle slope of the underside until he once again captured a nipple in his mouth. He suckled and licked, then bit down with enough pressure to make her cry out. Rather than letting it go, he held the hard nub between his teeth and used his tongue to tease her into crying out again.

"Your skin tastes like honey," he whispered. "I want to taste all of it." His hands traced a path down her sides to the band of her panties, his mouth following to prove his point. He worked her underwear down over her hips, shoving them just far enough that she could kick a leg free. When she did, he grabbed her ankle and lifted it over his shoulder. "Can I taste all of it?" he asked.

Please, yes, don't stop, her mind screamed, but the only thing that she was able to vocalize was a little hum of assent. Good enough for Andy. He kissed the small jut of her hipbone and dragged his tongue along the inside of her thigh, nipping at her skin when she whimpered. Finally, finally, he made his way to her center, and she almost broke apart when he dragged his tongue slowly through her folds.

He pulled away from her, and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her. "You don't come until I tell you to," he said. He ducked down and gave her clit a quick flick with his tongue. "You understand?"

"Is that an order?" 

"Let's consider it," he licked his lips as he thought about his choice of words, and Sharon felt herself growing more aroused at the thought of him tasting her on his mouth, "a rule."

"I like rules," she panted.

He nuzzled her, his tongue licking into her, testing her arousal. "I know you do," he muttered. "I can taste it." He set about his task in earnest, nibbling at the sensitive skin, then sucking her clit until she was ready to beg him to stop. Too much, too much, if she was going to die from this, she wanted him inside her when it happened.

"Andy, please, make love to me. Now."

He traced a finger through her vulva, pushing it in enough to test her readiness. She was ready, so ready, and if he reached that finger any farther into her, she'd come apart right there and then. Satisfied with his quick exploration, Andy licked his finger then settled on top of her, his weight pressing her into the bed and his cock slowly teasing her with each gentle thrust of her hips.

"Wait," she said, before he could ease into her. "We should-"

His hips stilled. "I got tested the day you said you'd go to Serve with me. I can wear a condom, but I'm clean."

She'd probably go to Hell for thinking that was a sign from the Almighty that He was ok with what she was about to do, but she wasn't going to stop. "I want to feel you," she said.

Andy reached down and positioned himself, then slid into her. Slowly, so slowly, that she was almost able to ignore the discomfort of having someone inside her after years of abstinence. She held her breath, willing every muscle in her body to catch up to her brain and welcome him.

She was digging her nails into his back, not thinking that she was probably drawing blood until she realized that he was waiting to move until she gave him a sign. "Sharon," he whispered, "don't ever doubt it. What we're doing right now, this is making love."

He moved, cautiously at first, slow shallow strokes. When she wrapped her legs more firmly around his waist and dug her heels into his ass, he lengthened his stroke and thrust more forcefully into her.

There was nothing Sharon Raydor hated more than being predictable, and having an orgasm from ordinary missionary sex was the epitome of predictable, but something about the way Andy moved in her, and the way he shifted ever so slightly with every stroke, had every nerve in her body singing. He tugged at her right leg until she disentangled her ankles and wrapped his arm under her knee, opening her a little more to him. Oh, oh, oh, she was definitely going to hell, becuase "OH GOD!" Right there, right there, right there, and why the hell had she spent so long pretending that they were just friends, when they could have been having this? This, right there, and one more stroke and she was coming apart around him, digging her nails into his shoulders and crying out as every muscle in her body clenched around him, holding him tight enough that he came right after her.

It took her a second to come back to reality, but when she did, Andy was settled on top of her, pressing light kisses to her cheekbone, the ridge of her nose, her hairline and the corner of her mouth. Still so tentative, even after she was fairly certain she'd shouted her orgasm loud enough for the desk attendant at the lobby to hear. Her leg was still wrapped around his waist, and her hands were still clutching his shoulders. She let her fingers drift, up up until she could scratch his scalp lazily with her nails and pull him down to kiss her fully.

"I take back every bad thing I ever said about you," she murmured.

"How many were there? Ten, 20, a thousand?"

"I can't remember right now. Ask me tomorrow when I'm dressed."

They were both old enough that they should have skipped over afterglow and gone right to sleep, but having Andy in her bed was enough to keep her awake. Not that she didn't want him there, but the weight of another body and his breath tickling the back of her neck...it was new. Sharon Raydor did not deal well with new.

Andy Flynn, just as chatty in the aftermath as he'd been during foreplay, didn't seem to care that Sharon did not deal well with new. No, instead, he was perfectly happy brush his fingers against her side, tease them over her belly, and tell her over and over how good she felt and how happy he was.

She wanted to tell him the same, but curling up against another naked body, still reeking of sex and sweat and not immediately wanting to jump in the shower and wash all traces of him away, that was still too new. And terrifying.

Even more terrifying was the fact that she wanted to curl up against him, falling asleep wrapped in the scent of sex and the steady rhythm of his breath on her neck.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize he'd gone quiet. "What?" she said, turning her head to catch the tip of his nose with her lips. "What are you thinking?"

He returned her kiss, lazily catching whatever skin he could find. "I'm thinking that in a million years, I never thought I'd be here, next to you."

He had a point, but it was still a little insulting. "Really? Didn't you say that you'd thought about this, and now you all of a sudden never thought you'd be here?"

"Oh, I thought about this all right, but I never thought it would actually happen." He kissed her again, busying her lips before she could start an argument. More power to him, she thought, because the last thing she wanted was for their first fight to ruin their first night together.

She broke the kiss, her relationship insecurities all of a sudden roaring back onto the scene. "Did you really think that after we started dating, I'd never want anything more than just hand-holding and you buying me dinner?"

"Did you really think that the first time I pictured you naked, it was after I took you to Serve?" He pulled her a little closer, his hand cupping her breast and his fingers teasing her nipple yet again, slowly. Not because he wanted to have sex, but because she was there and he was there and he just wanted to touch her. No, she realized, he probably didn't wait to think about this until after their first date, anymore than she had.

"How long have you been thinking about this, exactly?"

He crooked his finger under the sheet she had tucked against her chest, peeking under it and then grinning at her. "About this? Since 1989, give or take." She huffed and tried to slap his hand away, but he caught it and pulled it up to his lips. If they never had sex again, Sharon thought she'd be perfectly happy with Andy kissing her hand.

Not that they weren't going to have sex again. Sharon was cautious, not stupid.

"Was it what you expected?' Sharon was cautious, and definitely not stupid, except when it came to the man currently tracing lazy patterns into her skin.

"I said I thought about it. I never expected." Andy shrugged, the movement of his shoulders jostling her head off the comfortable position she'd claimed when he tucked them into bed. "Trust me, what I hoped for when you were reading me the riot act or what I expected when you said you'd be willing to date me...Since the day I met you, you've always surprised me."

Nobody had ever said that to her before. She twisted on her side and poked and prodded Andy until he was in the right position for her to drape herself on him. "You surprise me too. Every day."

He grunted in response, and she figured that he was done in, at least until they had a few hours of sleep and some breakfast. "Andy?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

What should she say? Don't ever leave me? Don't ever make me feel alone? Don't ever make me regret this? Somehow, she knew he wouldn't. "Don't ever stop surprising me."

"Don't ever stop wanting me to surprise you," he replied.

She curled into the fetal position, their earlier activities enough to wear her out. "Done," she said with a yawn. She was mostly asleep when she felt him whisper his revised wish against her shoulder. "Don't ever stop wanting me," he mumbled.

She could make that deal.


End file.
